When I was growing up in the late 70s and early 80s, spanking had somewhat gone out of vogue. Many parents, including mine, believed that more permissive methods were the answer, and always allowed me a large amount (too large in reflection) of freedom.
However when I was two, my father passed away, leaving my mom a single parent with a very young child on her hands. Admitted, she did the best that she could but after I hit around the 0 or 11, I began to get out of hand. Nothing illegal, mind you, like a lot of today’s teens, but my behaviour was certainly going downhill.
At first, my mother dismissed it as early signs of standard adolescent rebellion, and really thought nothing of it. She had a very demanding job that didn’t allow her a lot of free time – so when I misbehaved, I’d be grounded or lectured and that was that.
What was worse was that the only thing consistent about her discipline methods was her inconsistency. When I was grounded or put on restriction, I’d simply get out of it by nagging her, or just ignore it. And so as this continued – my grades dropped and my attitude got worse and worse.
Then, when I was about 13, we moved. My mother had been offered a new job that allowed more money and better hours, whereas had we stayed put, she would have been stuck in a job she didn’t like making a fraction of what she was worth. Anyway with that move, things began to change.
For one thing, since she was home by five or so every day, she got to see a lot more of me – and thus she saw more and more of my behaviour. I had got so used to the freedom, and her permissive discipline, that I was getting more out of hand than before – and she noticed it.
At first it was just little things, but as time progressed, during the first few months following our move, she began to realise that maybe grounding and a ‘good talking-to’ weren’t helping. So finally, she decided to try something different.
One day – I don’t remember the exact circumstances – we had an argument. I was clearly in the wrong, but being a 13-year-old boy, and with a tradition in the house of lax punishment, I just pressed on arguing. Finally my mouth got ahead of me and I really shot off. I don’t remember exactly what I said but it was venal, and very petty.
My mother was infuriated – she sent me to my room and told me to wait for her. I thought I was just going to get another lecture, so I stomped off to my room.
When she finally came up, she did lecture me. However, this time she did it holding a brand new paddle. She had had a friend make it in his wood shop; it was stained red and was about a foot and half long, 6in wide, about three-quarters of an inch thick, with three holes right down the centre. On the handle were the words ‘Mom’s Helper’.
I was transfixed and for once, my mom’s lecture actually made an impact. She told me she was fed up with my behaviour, that for a long time I had been getting worse and worse and she had done everything she knew how to. So from now on it was going to be different, and if I wasn’t going to respond to anything else, maybe it was time to get my attention a different way.
There was to be no more grounding, and the only time she’d waste her breath to lecture would be at times like these. She added that she was sorry it had come to this, but if she couldn’t reason with me to behave, she could show me the consequences in a way that I’d remember.
She then told me to stand up and turn around. By this time, it was all starting to sink in and I was realising that for once, I was really in trouble and that there was no way to get out of it.
I had to pull my pants and my underpants down to my ankles and bend over my bed while she continued to lecture. Wheh she had finished, she asked me if I understood and when I said ‘yes’, she gave me a light little tap with the paddle to warn me it was about to start.
Then I heard her raise the paddle and the first smack hit home. It was a whole new experience for me. It wasn’t agonising, at least at first, but it left a good sting. The paddle was heavy so the impact was big enough, but thin enough to sting with the aid of the holes. She really laid it on, probably 20 smacks. For a woman who had never spanked her child before, she really knew what she was doing.
Suddenly she stopped, and I thought she was finished. My behind was starting to burn and I was ready to put my pants on and regain my modesty. But mom just asked me if it was sinking in, and when I nodded, she replied ‘good’, and added that she was really going to make sure it did. So again, I heard her draw back the paddle and I felt the impact, this time much harder. She was determined that it would be a spanking to remember.
By the end of it, my bottom was dark red and I was crying and promising to be good. But most of all, I realised how long I’d really had it coming and that from now on, things were going to be a lot different. And they certainly were!
Later that evening, when I’d finally settled down a little and was feeling very contrite, we had a discussion over dinner and mom explained to me her new system of rules.
First, grounding and restriction were cut out of the plan entirely, and from that point on, all misbehaviour earned a spanking. There were two types of misbehaviour – major and minor. Major misbehaviour would be things like sneaking out, open defiance or disobedience – discipline problems at school also counted.
Minor things would be almost everything else – mostly things that by themselves would not be important, but because they occurred so much, they were a problem.
For major infractions I would get a spanking – that’s all there was to it – but minor things got treated a little differently. From then on, she was to keep a small notepad with her at all times and when I misbehaved, I would get ‘written up’. I wouldn’t be told that things were being written down so I just had to be as good as I could.
At the end of the week, she’d review the list and for each thing on it, I would get five swats of the paddle. If there were five to 10 things on the list, it would only be pants down; 10 or more, and it would be on the bare bottom. If I had earned 30 or more swats, they were to be divided – half on Saturday night and the other on Sunday morning before church.
Well, the week went by much as usual. I was careful to be polite and respectful – but then again, old habits are hard to break. So I managed not to get spanked during the week and by the end, I thought that Saturday was going to be a breeze. I was in for a surprise.
Saturday went by OK; my mom was perfectly amiable, we went shopping for some school clothes, because August was drawing to an end and school was going to start in a few weeks. But when we got home on Saturday night, my mom reminded me that we had a matter to settle and asked me to go up to my room while she started dinner. So up I went, wondering how my night was gong to turn out.
She came up after about 30 minutes – with ‘Mom’s Helper’ in one hand and a little notebook in the other. So much for being well behaved – it turned out that I had been written up 12 times, including three times for back talk and four times over chores. In the first week, I had managed to earn 60 spanks! Also, that meant I would get half that night and half the next morning.
Accepting my fate, I turned around to bend over the bed, when mom asked me if I had forgotten something. And of course I had – since I had 12 things on the list, I had to bare my bottom before bending over.
Once my jeans and underpants were at my feet and I was bent over the bed, she began the paddling in doses, reading out each infraction and following it with a dose of five hard spanks. I started crying after the first ten and by the end, I was kicking and squirming like a little kid, knowing I was getting my just deserts.
After the 30th spank, she let me cry for a while but then she sat down and gave me a hug, then let me get redressed so we could eat. After dinner, I had to help with the dishes and then go straight to bed. Mom said we’d be going to the later service at church, so we could take care of my remaining discipline, but that I still needed to get to bed. So I brushed my teeth, got into my pyjamas, set my alarm for seven and got into bed. Needless to say, I slept on my stomach that night.
The next morning, when I woke up, I was a lot less sore. When I went to take my shower, though, I noticed that my bottom was still really red and I felt pretty tender. I remembered that I still had another dose to go.
When I got downstairs, my mom was already up and she said we’d deal with my punishment after breakfast. So when we were through, we went into the living room,and she told me to take down my pants and briefs and go over the arm of the couch.
The couch was more comfortable but it was also taller, which gave her a better shot at my already brightly-coloured behind. And so I got 30 more, in bursts of five, and by the end I was even sorrier and vowing to clean up my act. All in all, from my mom’s perspective the results were very satisfactory, although I was distracted from the sermon by my paddled posterior.
From then on, I knew that my mom meant business.
Contributor: Anonymous